The old man on the corner. (Recorded.)

Standing on the corner is an old guy with a smile,
I see him here most every year, so I linger for a while.
And he tells me all these stories of the places where he’s been,
Of distant lakes and mountains, and of valleys oh so green.
You can see it written in his eyes he really has been there,
Travelled in those distant lands, seen sights beyond compare,
And I’m so happy just to know him, and hear him tell his tales.
'Bout the time he was in Newfoundland, a’hunting those damn whales.
His hands are hard and calloused and his skin burnt almond brown,
But his eyes are clear as crystal, and he never wears a frown.
No-one knows just where he came from, but we all know where he’s been,
When he starts to spin his stories, they unfold like a dream.
But when you hear him tell 'em, you know he’s speaking true,
Co’s he ain’t the kind of fella, who would ever lie to you.
And though you don’t really know him, you kind’a feel you do,
You’d like to know him better, but you know he won’t let you.
For he has a million stories that other people need to hear,
So he ambles down his lonely road, I’ll see him here next year.


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